The Story of the Lost Sire
by grimpoet
Summary: Zolashmai was a Chosen, one of a selct few bred to become Inspired. One night, after learning of the terrible truth behind his existence he flees the palace. But the Inspired won't let go of their unwilling host that easily. This is his story. Please R&R.


Dark thunder clouds filled the sky over the grand city of Riedra. Wind and rain lashed the proud spires of Riedra's grand Palace. In the streets, pedestrians huddled under awnings and bridges, hiding from the full fury of the storm. The Palace of the Inspired stood strong and tall, as if in defiance to the forces that assaulted it from all sides. Deep within the Palace walls, the seven Chosen sat eating dinner, completely oblivious to the chaos that raged outside.

The table was long and narrow and was made of a dark-reddish brown wood. Seven tall backed chairs of a similar material encircled the table. Each chair was occupied with a different Chosen, each just as oblivious as the next to their destiny to become the host of a Quori spirit.

"Pass the salt please Zolashmai" asked the tall, dark haired male at the head of the table.

"Get it yourself Volashan" replied Zolashmai sweetly, not even looking up from his plate of roasted lamb. Zolashmai was the youngest of the Chosen at only fifteen and as such sat at the far end of the table, and was constantly being ordered around by the other Chosen.

With a sigh, Volashan placed his fork on the table and looked over at the salt holder, which lifted up off the table and soared over to Volashan's plate where it dropped a generous amount of the salt, and then it soared back to its spot, not spilling a single grain of salt on the way.

After a few more moments of eating in silence, there was a loud _ding_ sound. The Chosen sitting around the edge of the table dropped their utensils to the table. Each of them sat a little straighter in their chairs, a few of the female Chosen were checking their reflections in their spoons.

Then a woman strode into the room. She was a tall and slender figure of otherworldly beauty and grace, her violet eyes sparkled with an inner radiance. She seemed at once delicate and imperious, dressed in an elaborate headdress that held a veritable waterfall of indigo hair, and a robe covered with a twisting pattern of blue and purple paths. In short, she was an Inspired.

"Ah! Mistress, how are you this evening?" cooed Volashan, who, like all the others, had stood the moment the majestic Inspired entered the room.

She didn't answer.

Her face was an unreadable mask as she surveyed the Chosen. Zolashmai could have sworn that she had stared at him much longer than she had done for the rest, and what was that look that had flitted across her face? Was it bemusement? Zolashmai looked away.

_Volashan, follow me. _They didn't hear her voice so much as thought it, her lips had not moved once. And yet somehow they were able to simply know what it was she wished to convey to them.

Volashan stood stock-still, his heart beating out of his chest. He crossed the room over to where the Inspired stood. She took his hand in hers and she guided him from the room. Almost immediately, the others collapsed into their chairs, each releasing a breath they had been holding in. Each sighing a slight sigh of sadness. Of course, they all knew where he was being taken to. Like so many others before him, Volashan was to become one of the revered Inspired.

The chosen quickly dispersed, each leaving to attend to their own needs. Zolashmai left to go on his nightly walk of the palace.

He ran up the stairs to the door that the Inspired and Volashan had just taken. He pulled open the heavy door and charged forward. He emerged into a long hallway. On each side of the hallway, large windows looked out into the palace's extensive gardens. Tonight however, nothing could be seen through the windows that were being pelted with rain. Every so often, bright flashes of lightning illuminated a rain drenched garden with plants practically being blown away in the wind. Zolashmai looked out of the windows for a minute. Then he turned and walked down the hall, shoving his hands into his pockets and striding over to the door at the other end of the hall. He pulled open the door and stepped into another hallway. This one was illuminated by cold fire lanterns. Doors lined the walls on either side of the hall.

Zolashmai strode purposefully down the corridor. But then he paused. Was that a scream? He furrowed his brow in puzzlement. He resumed his walk, though his stride was slightly less confident. He paused again. He turned slowly to the door to his right. He stepped forward. He pushed the door open silently.

Inside the room, a small group of people were standing around a stone table. Zolashmai recognized the Inspired that had taken Volashan away. He also saw several more Inspired gathered there too. He also saw a few more figures he didn't recognize including one of the bestial shifters. But the thing that really drew his attention was the stone table, or rather what was on the table. For strapped to the table with many psionically strengthened chains was Volashan. He was howling in terror, his eyes and mouth were shining with powerful psionic energies. A monstrous shape was hovering in the air above the writhing Chosen.

Zolashmai let out a slight gasp. The indigo clad Inspired turned her head slightly. Did she hear him? His question was quickly answered when the Inspired looked over at the shifter who immediately sprang into motion. He bounded across the room and peered through the open part of the door, his mouth twisting into a horrible smile. Zolashmai's eyes widened in surprise. He sprang to his feet and bounded to the door at the end of the hallway. He pushed through the door and emerged into the corridor with the windows on either side. He ran for the other door but felt a clawed hand grab his leg and he clattered to the floor. He focused on the shifter with his mind. For a moment, the shifter's mind was splayed out in front of him like a web. For a second, the shifter's foreign mind surprised him, but he quickly gained his bearing and struck out at one of the lines of the web. The shifter cried out in pain and stumbled backwards. Zolashmai took the opportunity and ran.

The shifter cried out in rage and charged the fleeing Chosen, pulling a wicked looking dagger from the inside of his tunic. The shifter flung itself at the Chosen bodily and the two crashed through one of the windows on the wall.

The pair plummeted to the ground at an astonishing rate. As the ground neared, Zolashmai conjured up his last dredges of psionic power. The smell of burnt toast could be smelled just before he stopped falling, and then began to float upwards. He began to smile slightly as he saw the shifter plummet to the garden below.

Suddenly, the shifter stopped in his fall. Now it was the shifter's turn to smile as Zolashmai's look of triumph was replaced with one of surprise. The shifter soared upwards and met Zolashmai in the air.

"Surprise" growled the shifter, and a lightning flash illuminated his grinning face.

He swung at Zolashmai with his claws, raking him across his chest. Zolashmai soared downwards and produced a small crossbow from his belt. He aimed it at the growling shifter only to have it torn from his grip and thrown to the floor.

Finally, bereft of all of his defenses, Zolashmai dropped to the floor at set off at a run. He ran through the garden, never looking back. He stumbled blindly through the clinging vines.

The rain soaked him to the bone and his entire body shook with the cold but he didn't stop for he could hear the shifter charging after him.

He emerged into a clearing. A small table was sitting all alone in a corner, its chairs having apparently been blown away by the wind. A stream ran through the clearing and was swelling greatly due to the rain.

Suddenly, the shifter sprang into view. The six-foot tall shifter's long hair was drenched through and his simple clothes were plastered against his slender frame. His powerful claws were at the ready. He was a much more imposing figure than Zolashan who was only five-foot-five and whose dark hair was constantly being blown into his eyes. His clothes were torn and tattered and blood seeped from the wound on his chest. He was breathing heavily as the shifter closed in for the kill.

Suddenly, a blade of green energy was plunged straight through the shifter's chest and emerged from the side facing Zolashmai. The blade was pulled back out and the shifter fell to the floor. The shifter's murderer looked up at Zolashmai. He was about the same height as Zolashmai but was far more slender than the pampered youth. The assassin had dark brown skin and his bright green eyes shone like jewels. His long dark hair was in dreadlocks. His right hand was wreathed in green energy which grew into the shape of a short-sword, tapering to a point at the end. Zolashmai recognized him as a Xeph.

"Please, can you help me? The Inspired are crazy" pleaded Zolashmai, dropping to his knees.

"Why should I help you, Inspired scum?" asked the Xeph, scowling at him.

"Because I can tell you things about them" bargained Zolashmai "Besides, I'm only a Chosen"

"How do I know that?" questioned the Xeph, advancing towards the cowering Chosen.

"Because if I was an Inspired, then you wouldn't be standing here right now" replied Zolashmai, standing, his confidence returning.

The Xeph couldn't argue with these facts.

"Alright kid, follow me" decided the Xeph. And he turned to leave, with Zolashmai following behind.

Zolashmai practically jumped with joy.

"You can't understand how much I am in your debt Xeph!" exclaimed Zolashmai.

"Don't call me Xeph, my name is Assim" growled the Xeph.

"Sorry" apologized the Chosen "My name is Zolashmai"

Assim guided him through the garden. After what seemed like hours of walking in silence and huddling against the wind and rain, the two came to a large mound of earth. A large hole was set in the side of the mound.

"Why haven't the Inspired discovered this?" asked Zolashmai.

"You'll see" replied Assim.

The two stepped out of the rain and into the cave and were confronted by a wall of dirt. Zolashmai looked questioningly at Assim. Assim in turn drew a long length of simple green crystal. He plunged the rod into the dirt wall and pulled it back out and placed it in his tunic. The wall of dirt suddenly retreated into the wall and disappeared. Zolashmai looked at the spot where the wall once stood in astonishment. Assim then pulled out and orb of frosted glass. He spoke a command word and the orb began to glow with an inner glow. The light illuminated a long dark tunnel that stretched past the reach of the light. The pair pressed on. They walked for what seemed like hours, turning this way, and then that way, sometimes the tunnel crossed other tunnels and sometimes it passed over large caverns. Finally the end could be seen in the distance. When they reached the end of the tunnel, they saw that the rain had stopped and the moon was peeking through the clouds. The tunnel opened out onto a rocky ledge overlooking a small harbor-town. A narrow, rock-strewn path wound its way down from the ledge down to the village. Assim made his way nimbly down the path. Zolashmai followed, somewhat more cautiously, stumbling several times.

They made their way along the narrow winding streets of the town. They passed through numerous alleyways.

Assim led the way to a large, ramshackle old warehouse on the waterfront. The warehouse was old and decrepit and looked as if even a slight breeze would send it flying. Assim opened up the warehouse's large wooden doors.

At the other end of the building, large wooden doors opened to a magnificent view of the water. The water actually continued into the warehouse. A giant elemental driven boat was sitting in the water just inside the warehouse. The gorgeous boat stood in sharp contrast to the shabbiness of the warehouse. The ship's sail was rippling with an unseen wind. Zolashmai looked around the warehouse. Various people were standing around the warehouse, surveying him intently.

Assim led him over to a side room where.

"This is the infirmary" Assim informed him "Zeke, the physician will attend to your wounds"

And with that, Zolashmai took a seat at one of the infirmary's numerous beds and looked around the room.

Quite a few beds were arranged around the room several of them were occupied and a few more were hidden behind thick brown curtains. There were numerous cupboards that no doubt held anti-toxins and other types of medicine. A woman of indefinite age sat bolt lounged on one of the nearby beds, her arm in a sling. Over across the room, an old man with a long white beard sat, fiddling with the sleeves on his long, worn-out gray robes, a horrible looking scar ran along his jaw-line. A tiny halfling scurried out from behind one of the curtains. The man had what looked like a dragonmark curling down along his cheek. Zolashmai recognized it as the mark of healing.

He scurried over to the old man and handed him a little bottle of greenish liquid, and then scurried over to the woman. The two exchanged a few words and he finally stormed off in a huff.

Finally, the halfling came to stand beside Zolashmai.

"Ooh, that cut looks nasty, it's definitely infected" said the halfling, sounding worried.

Zolashmai looked down and saw that the wound was now lined with a horrible shade of green.

"As for your other injuries, it's nothing a few days of rest wouldn't fix" continued the halfling "Just please lie down sir"

"Zeke, is it?" asked Zolashmai, moving to a prone position on the bed, he propped his head up with the pillows that were provided.

"Yes, it is kind sir" replied the halfling sweetly.

"What is it exactly that you do here" asked Zolashmai, looking at the healer with a look of interest on his face.

"Why sir, I would have thought that was obvious, I am a healer" replied the halfling, looking surprised.

"No! I mean all of this, what is with all of these people, and what's the deal with the boat?" asked Zolashmai, looking flustered.

"I'll tell you what we do here" came of voice out of nowhere; it was soft, definitely feminine.

The two looked around in confusion. Finally they spotted the speaker; it was the woman with her arm in a sling.

"And what might that be?" asked Zolashmai, regaining his composure.

"Well, we take in people who are on the run from the Inspired, we fix them up and keep them here for a while" began the woman "Then we give them a choice, we can either bring them to Khorvaire via Miss Aliana's private boat or they can stay here and help us in our work, and when we're not taking in refugees, we usually organize raids against the Inspired, any more questions, Chosen scum?" she spat out that last part with particular venom.

"Now now, be nice Sandreesa" scolded Zeke.

"Hello hello honored guest" cried a woman's voice.

Out of nowhere, a short, elven woman ran forward. The woman was incredibly beautiful and she carried such and a presence of personality with her that Zolashan was taken aback. The woman practically bubbled with barely suppressed magical energy. Her long brown hair trailed behind her as she surged towards him. Thousands of tiny jewels were stitched into her long black dress. She held her train in her left hand.

She placed Zolashmai's hand in her own and smiled sweetly.

Suddenly the woman took a step back, her body trembling, her eyes wide. Zeke jumped forward to the rescue. He placed his hands on either side of the woman's head and his mark began to glow softly. The woman stopped shaking and he removed his hands. The woman covered her eyes with her hand and steadied herself.

"I'm sorry about that" apologized the woman shakily "I don't know what just happened"

"Are you okay" replied Zolashmai.

"Yes, I think so" replied the woman, her brow furrowed.

Then, suddenly, as if just remembering something, she looked up and extended her hand to shake, and then, as if deciding that that wasn't such a good idea, pulled it back, and then she said "I'm sorry, where are my manners, my name is Lady Alianathas ir'Serinath, Lady Aliana for short"


End file.
